


Beautiful Dangerous

by vampireisthenewblack



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, All Human, Alternating POV (chapter by chapter), Blood, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampireisthenewblack/pseuds/vampireisthenewblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/></p><p>He who seeks revenge should remember to dig two graves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One - Sweeter

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, I never finished this fic. I'm uploading it now (10 April 2013) for archival purposes, the only other place it's archived currently is FFn and due to the sexual content it could get yanked at any time.
> 
> As with all my fic, it's got a CC licence on it that allows anyone to remix or complete it. See the end notes for details.
> 
> The first chapter was originally a stand-alone one-shot, so is very readable alone.

_Being held a foe, he may not have access_  
 _To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;_  
 _But passion lends them power, time means, to meet,_  
 _Tempering extremities with extreme sweet._

~v~

He couldn't have been much more than twenty, and he was beautiful. I could easily see the blue of his eyes through the window as I walked by.

I had to meet him.

It was easy once I was inside. All I had to do was catch his eye and return his shy smile, bite my lip just as he did, dip my head away a split second before him. It worked every time.

"Sorry," I said. "I don't usually do this; you know, talk to complete strangers in coffee shops." It was a lie. "I couldn't leave without knowing your name."

He blushed, and it was delicious, watching the blood rush to his face. I was sure I could feel it, the heat of it. I wanted to touch his skin, to feel his pulse racing, to taste him, but it wasn't time yet. "Jasper," he said.

"I'm Edward." I held out my hand to him, and he took it. I had to swallow my gasp at the heat of him, and the shock that raced up my arm and straight into my chest. Yes, he was perfect, and I had to have him. I fidgeted, but it was a conscious action, carefully contrived to make him feel at ease. "Could I... buy you a coffee sometime, or a drink, or maybe dinner?" I waited, a hopeful expression on my face.

He nodded enthusiastically, and then pulled a pen and notebook out of the back pocket of his skin-tight black jeans. He quickly scribbled a number, made to slip it to me, and then pulled back at the last second and scrawled his name above it.

I chuckled. "Don't worry, Jasper. I definitely won't forget whose number this is." I slipped the paper into my own back pocket, but I'd already memorised it.

~v~

I made him think that I was just the same as him. Normal. I ate the unpalatable food, chewing and swallowing, allowing it to slide down my throat. Next to him nothing had a taste.

He toyed with the rose I'd given him. "It's still got the thorns."

"That's the way it's supposed to be."

He pressed his forefinger against a sharp point, and my breath hissed inward. "Yes," he said. "Beautiful, and yet dangerous."

He didn't say it out loud, but I knew he didn't want to part ways at the end of the evening. He wished that he had asked me to pick him up instead of meeting me at the restaurant. He wished he hadn't been smart like that.

I walked him to his car and let him pause expectantly for just a few moments before I kissed him. And when I did he surrendered completely to me, throwing his arms around my neck and pushing his hips forward to press into mine. His heart beat fast in his chest and the rhythm flowed through me, intoxicating me. Would I be able to wait, to savour him as I wanted, when he was so willing?

I pulled back from our kiss, and stroked blond strands off his forehead. "You're so beautiful, Jasper. I don't know how I'm going to be able to resist you."

His heart beat faster. "I'm okay with it if you don't." A blatant invitation.

But it wasn't time yet. The longer I waited, the sweeter he would be. I placed the palm of my hand over the thumping vein in his throat, and he shivered at my cold touch. "Goodnight, Jasper."

~v~

The next time we had dinner I picked him up, and drove him home after. I kissed him at his door until he was breathless.

"Do you wanna come in?" he asked me. Blood rushed to his face.

I sighed, my fingers under his shirt and trailing over the bare skin of his lower back as I held him close. "Yes, Jasper. But I'm not going to. Not yet."

He made a noise, half sob, half gasp. His hips twitched against me. "What are we waiting for? I want you."

"I want it to be perfect. It'll be sweeter if we wait, I promise you."

His breath shuddered, and his body pressed closer to mine. "God, Edward. You're unreal." He laughed softly.

I lowered my lips to his throat, let my tongue glide over the place where I could practically taste the blood flowing beneath the skin. It would be so much sweeter, the longer I waited. He shivered in my arms. I'd make it good for him too.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he whispered so softly I wasn't sure if he meant for me to hear it.

So soon. And I'm not often surprised about such things. His admission inflamed me and I had to tear my lips from his throat. Not here.

I kissed him again, pushing him hard against the door and the breath rushed out of him. He moaned into my mouth, rubbing his hips against mine. His blood smelt sweeter already, so good. I wanted it, needed it, needed him.

Not yet.

He whimpered when I pulled away. "Tease," he murmured with a smile as I backed away from him.

~v~

"Careful. That knife is sharp." The blade came dangerously close to his fingers as he sliced the vegetables. I couldn't take my eyes from it. One nick, and his blood would be spilt. I could imagine the red flowing out and staining the pure white of the marble countertop and my mouth watered.

He grinned. "I know what I'm doing. God, Edward. Your house is amazing. How did I not know you lived in a freaking mansion?"

I dropped my eyes demurely. "The house belongs to a friend. I'm sort of house sitting right now."

"Oh, right." He looked relieved, if anything. "I was starting to wonder why you drove a Volvo instead of like, an Aston Martin or something." He laughed.

I heard his breath hiss inward suddenly before I saw what he'd done.

"Shit," he said as he squeezed the tip of his finger. A drop of blood welled on his skin. "I guess I  _don't_  know what I'm doing. You distracted me." He grinned.

I couldn't take my eyes from the blood. Without realising I had moved, I was in front of him and holding his hand before me.

"I'm fine, really. Do you have a band aid? It's just a scratch."

I lifted my eyes to his and watched them widen as I pulled his finger between my lips. My tongue swept the tiny drop off his skin and I suppressed the groan that heralded the waves of pleasure that flowed through me at his taste, copper and salt.

I released him. "You should be more careful," I said, my eyes still locked to his.

He let out a short, sharp laugh. "You're a little weird, you know, Edward?"

I blinked.

And then he pressed his hips against me. He was as hard as I was. "I think I like weird."

I rather thought he did too, from his reaction. But I couldn't play this game, could not only have a taste.

I had to finish this. Tonight. "Do you love me?" I asked him.

He raised an eyebrow. "You know I do."

I kissed him, and wondered if he found his blood as intoxicating as I did. Yet the taste was gone already, and I wanted more. It wasn't supposed to be this soon, but it was time.

It would be tonight.

I didn't pull away as I always had before. Jasper deepened the kiss, his hands at the back of my neck, holding me firmly as if he would stop me from pulling away. I was painfully aware of his cut finger, pressing against my skin, I could feel the heat of it, the throb. I was sure it was still bleeding, could feel a small slickness where it pressed against my flesh. Hot, sweet, I needed it...

I turned my face from his with a gasp, searching for that heat, that thing I craved.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, wonder in his voice. Sweet, innocent Jasper. Pure. The throb dragged around my throat, across my cheek, and he slipped his finger into my mouth. It was still bleeding, just a little, and I moaned out loud this time when his taste hit my tongue.

His hips thrust against me as I sucked, and his breaths were heavy and uneven. "God. This is what gets you off?"

I met his eyes, gauging his reaction. His eyes were wide and staring, but there was nothing of the revulsion I'd seen in others eyes, none of the accusations and persecutions I'd seen before I learnt to hide my desires.

"I feel like I should be creeped out by this. I'm not." His breathing shuddered, and he ground his hips against mine, taking a step, steering me back against the counter. "It's actually really hot. This gets you off?" he asked again.

The tiny wound had closed. I wanted more. I released his finger from my lips and held his wrist, pressing the soft veined inside to my mouth, letting my tongue feel the pulse beneath the skin.

"This is why you wanted to wait? What? You can't get off without... blood?"

"Of course I can. I just wanted it to be perfect. It wasn't for me." I kissed the inside of his wrist. "It was for you, Jasper. It was all for you. I want it to be wonderful, perfect. And it will be."

"Tonight?" he asked hopefully. My heart soared.

"Yes, Jasper. Tonight."

He smiled, and pressed his teeth into his lip. And then he slowly trailed his hands down, over my shoulders, down my chest and to my belt. "I can't tell you how much I've wanted you." He slipped his fingers into the waist of my jeans, and looked up at me from beneath long eyelashes. His question was plain in his eyes.

"What about dinner?" I fought to keep the stammer from my voice.

"I don't want dinner. I want you, Edward. Please."

How could I deny him? "Not here. The bedroom."

An excited smile spread across his face. He was so beautiful, and the innocent excitement in his demeanour was as intoxicating as his blood. Soon. It would be so soon, and then I could have all I liked. And he would be even more beautiful, as it flowed out of him...

He took me by the hand. "Show me the way."

I did, but he pulled us back for just a second, to wrap his fingers carefully around the single long stemmed rose that lay on the counter, the red petals a stunning contrast against the marble. "I can't forget this," he whispered, and swept the flower across his cheek. Scarlet against palest pink. Lovely.

We walked silently, hand in hand, up the stairs. I wanted to tell him so many things, but they had to wait. Till the perfect time. He gasped when we entered the room. "God, is everything in this house white?" he asked.

I smiled. "I like it. It's so much easier to see colour this way. It stands out." I pulled him into my arms and kissed him, and he melted into me. I wanted him naked. A blank slate. "Take off your clothes," I whispered.

He blushed again. I loved how he did so easily. His skin burned against my lips as I dragged them across his cheek.

"You too, right?" His heart beat faster.

I lifted my hands to my collar. "Of course."

His fingers shook as he removed his clothing. Oh, he was glorious, perfect and beautiful.

"God, you're pretty, Edward," he said nervously as his eyes explored my body. He still clutched the rose in his fingers by the prickly stem. As I watched, he drew the petals across his hard stomach, and that caress, plus the splash of colour on his white skin made me moan in want.

"It's because it's red, isn't it?" he asked, his voice low and seductive. "Like blood?" He drew the bud up his chest, to his shoulder and lingered on his throat. "How about here? You like that?"

I could barely breathe. That he was taunting me like this, teasing me with promises of the rapture still to come... It was beyond my wildest dreams. Was this... acceptance? Thoughts of more than just this one night flickered through my mind, more than one night with him, to be able to taste him, again and again. Would he give himself to me willingly?

Could I be satisfied with that?

He dragged the petals away again, down his arm, to his wrist. "How about here?" And then swiftly, he struck the stem across the inside of his wrist.

The hooked thorns tore into his skin with an audible ripping noise. He barely flinched. Blood welled, flowed down his fingers, dripped to the floor.

He raised his arm slowly, twisting his wrist and gazing at the wound as if in wonder, as crimson fluid oozed and began to flow the other way. And then just as slow, he brought his eyes to mine as he pressed his ring finger to his lower lip, reddening it with his own blood. He sucked the finger into his mouth.

I gasped, my heart threatening to burst with need for him. His lips so red, I had to taste them, to taste him. My eyes flicked to his in a silent question, and he released his finger and raised his chin, parting his lips in invitation.

I closed the short space between us, and clutching his bleeding wrist in one hand I captured his lips with mine, letting my tongue sweep the colour from his mouth, taking every last drop from his lips and tongue.

"For you," he whispered, lowering his wrist to his hip. "On your knees. I want you to taste me, drink my blood."

My wildest dreams had come true. Jasper was different, he offered me his blood before I'd taken his body. That had never happened before, never with any of the others, and it struck me blind and dumb with gratitude and love for him.

I dropped to my knees before him and took his offering in my hands. His warmth flowed over my fingers as well, and I lowered my lips to his wrist, lapping and sucking with abandon. Blood smeared my lips and face, but I didn't care. My eyes drifted closed as his free hand found my head, fingers weaving into my hair, encouraging me.

I was engulfed in his sweetness.

He gripped my hair tightly, pulling, and then a blinding pain shot through me, as if I'd been struck by lightning. I fell, floated, heard faint words through the fog.

" _Sick fuck."_

And then nothing.

~v~

The first thing I became aware of was a throbbing pain in my head. I could hear, feel, each beat of my heart as the blood struggled to move within me. It took me a few moments to remember what had happened. I groaned, and opened my eyes. I was bound, naked, to the bed, by wrists and ankles, with silk ties. My breath hissed in as my body reacted to the eroticism of it.

Jasper was not in the room.

The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and I heard the sound of running water. "Jasper?" I called.

He walked into the room and towards the door, without even a glance towards me. He had dressed. I was confused. Why would he leave?

"Don't leave me, Jasper. Please."

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. He turned towards me slowly, and I held my head up to meet his eyes. They were empty, cold. "I don't understand, Jasper. Are you going to leave me like this?"

"I'm gonna call the police."

I couldn't understand why he would do such a thing. "They won't understand, Jasper."

And then, for no reason, his face twisted into an angry scowl. "Stop saying my name!" he exploded. "Like you know me! Like you care! You were going to kill me!"

I tried not to let my hurt feelings show to him. "I do know you, Jasper. I do care, very much." But as I thought about my feelings for him, such strong feelings after he had offered himself to me so recently, I became aroused. And Jasper noticed, his eyes raking slowly down my body to the increasingly obvious evidence of my desire.

He began to walk towards me, his eyes once again on my face. He was so very beautiful, strong and so very dominant in his anger. My cock throbbed with need for him.

"I had a boyfriend once," he said. "Oh, we broke up, but we still talked. We were friends. He told me about this great guy he was seeing, gorgeous, sexy, a real gentleman. Wouldn't make love with him because he was waiting till the 'right' time. Peter fell in love with him."

Peter. I licked my lips. He had been the third. A beautiful boy, and I loved him deeply. His blood was so very sweet, pure and young. But not so sweet as Jasper's had been.

"The guy took him to dinner, gave him a rose... Huh. Just like this one." Jasper picked up the rose from where he'd left it on the bed, his blood still clinging to the leaves, and dragged it across his cheek. I gasped, my stomach tightening, and I had to close my eyes for just a moment. The colour against his skin was exquisite.

"He told him the colour was beautiful against his skin. He told Peter he loved him too. Were you going to tell me you loved me tonight Edward?"

"Yes." I struggled to control my uneven breaths.

Jasper's lips pursed, and he glared at me. "Anyway, this guy had a funny way of showing it, because a few days later Peter disappeared. They found him in an empty house, splayed out on a bed very like this one. Perfect white sheets. His throat had been cut open. They said it wasn't deep enough to kill him fast. He died slowly. He would have known that he was slowly bleeding to death. He'd been fucked, too. What I want to know, is when. Before? While he was dying? Or was it... after? How sick are you really?"

I let my eyes drift closed as I remembered Peter, and how divine he had been. Scarlet against pure white, the perfect contrast. And his taste... "But you understand me, Jasper. I know you do. That's why I was going to make love to you tonight, because you understood. You gave yourself to me in a way none of the others ever have. You were already perfect, before I ever expected you to be. You're like me, Jasper."

"The fuck I am!" His fists clenched at his sides. I noticed that his wrist was bound with a white bandage, and the smell of antiseptic clung to him. I mourned the loss of the taste and scent of him that I had had before...

He knocked me out. And then laid me out like this, open and exposed. Accessible. He was lying to me, hoping I would believe that he didn't want this, didn't want me. "You could have tied me to a chair. Trussed me up and left me on the floor. You didn't. You tied me to the bed. Why?"

His eyes again settled on my cock, and it twitched under his scrutiny. I noticed when his breathing hitched, when his tongue darted out to lick his lips, when he dragged the lower one into his mouth and sucked. He could not deny that he wanted me. "You want what I wanted from you, Jasper. You want to take me, and while you do it, open my throat and taste me. Do it, Jasper. I want you to do it." My cock twitched against my stomach, my hips rising off the bed as I sought any stimulation at all.

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around my length and began to slowly stroke me.

I groaned, my head falling back. I knew he wanted this as much as I did. He was like me, and I wanted him to show me how he loved me. "Please, Jasper. Take me. I want you to. If you love me, please."

"You want me to fuck you, Edward?" he asked with a disbelieving stare.

"Oh yes. Love me like I would have loved you." I gasped. "I want it, please, I want you to see my blood spill out around me, please Jasper, make me come and spill my blood!"

He let go of me and I cried out at the loss. "You're a fucking lunatic," he whispered. "You're  _asking_  me to kill you?" His words wounded me, but I knew that he was only confused, because his own cock was straining against the zipper of his jeans, the shape of it outlined in sharp relief.

I wanted to show my disappointment, and so I frowned. "Jasper," I admonished, "I only ask you to prove your love for me. I would do the same for you."

Colour drained from his face, and he stood over me, frozen, staring.

And then finally he spoke. "Killing you, like you killed Peter, I thought that would be justice." His eyes narrowed. "But you want that. I'm not going to give you what you want." Quickly, he turned from me and moved swiftly to the door. He began to open it, but stopped and turned back. "I'm calling the cops. Revenge is sweeter," he whispered, and then was gone.

I stared at the open door as I listened to his hurried footsteps on the stairs, as I heard the front door slam shut behind him.

I sighed heavily as the sound of his car engine faded away, and then I tested my bonds. The authorities arriving and finding me in such a position would not do, at all.


	2. Act Two - Let Myself Fall

_O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell_   
_When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend_   
_In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?_   
_Was ever book containing such vile matter_   
_So fairly bound?_

~v~

The whiskey burned my throat. I suppressed a grimace and pushed the glass towards the bartender for another.

The girl raised an eyebrow at me. "You wanna talk about it?"

"God, no."

"This is the last one, okay?" She tipped the bottle, twice, the spout sputtering after the second measure. "So make it last. I can't serve you drunk."

"Yeah." I slid a note across the bar and debated throwing my drink down anyway, but then I would have to go back to my cheap motel room and stare at the walls or watch crappy cable all night.

Fuck that.

I'd been one of a handful of patrons when I'd walked in half an hour previous. There were a few more people in now. They'd turned the music up, too. I had no idea what music was popular. The song sounded completely foreign to me, though the genre was right up my alley. Or it would have been a couple of years ago.

The only radio I listened to now was the news stations. The only TV I watched was the news reports. I didn't read novels, just newspapers and reference books. Any time I spent on the internet was taken up with research. Psychological profiles. Mental disorders. Serial killers.

A year ago, I'd had a goal. Find  _him_  and avenge Peter's death.

I'd found him. Then I'd walked away, not having the balls to do what I should have done myself. Trusting the police and the F.B.I. to do their fucking jobs for a change.

After I'd left, made the call and headed for the state line, I'd spent the next couple of weeks waiting optimistically for the report that would tell me that I'd succeeded.

It never came.

I'd finally found a tiny caption at the bottom of the third page of one of the newspapers that said the police had received an anonymous tip that the killer was incapacitated inside a house, but when they'd got there they'd found nothing but a little blood on the carpet of the master bedroom. They believed it was a hoax. There wasn't enough blood spilt for the house to have been the scene of a murder, but they'd taken samples, and if a match ever turned up, they would be taken in for questioning.

That was my blood.

I'd spent the last five months back at square one, scouring newspapers and internet sites for some clue that would indicate which path he was taking. Except now, I was aiming to keep out of his way, rather than cross his path. I had no doubt that he'd take any chance to take his revenge, to finish what he started with me. And I was terrified. Not to mention disgusted with myself. I'd planned everything so intricately, so perfectly. Put myself in his way, said all the right words, acted the right way...the way all the others had acted. Then I'd wasted it all. I'd never had the balls in the first place.

I should have opened him up and bled him dry. Left  _that_  for the cops to find. I could see it when I closed my eyes,  _him,_  spread out naked on that white bed, surrounded in glistening blood, a perfect splash of colour against his pale skin.

I shook myself free of the fantasy and lurched a little on the stool. Yeah, I was drunk. And I needed to pee. I waved at the girl and gestured towards the bathroom, then down at my drink, silently asking her to watch it for me.

I had to grip the bar when I slid from the stool, but I steadied myself and headed for the bathroom.

On the way back, when I thought I caught a glimpse of bronze hair and pale skin I ignored it. I'd been seeing him since I'd walked out the door that night. Paranoid.

I slipped back onto the stool, throwing a smile at the girl in thanks. I was drunk enough now that I could go back to the dingy motel and pass out. That had been my goal all along. I threw back what remained in my glass without looking at it, banged it on the bar, waved at the girl, and carefully pulled myself off the stool.

Only then did I look down at the polished wood, and there, parallel to the edge, lay a single, long stemmed red rose, complete with thorns.

~v~

I walked swiftly down the busy street. More paranoid now, I saw tall, auburn haired men everywhere, but I was drunk, everything was blurry...and I was panicked.

I should have stayed in the bar; should have had the girl call the police. But without thinking I'd bolted outside.

What the fuck would I do if he followed me back to the motel? I was fucked.

I'd had a lot to drink, but I didn't think it had been enough to make me feel as lethargic as I did at that moment. The whole world seemed to shift, the sounds of the traffic and the people seemed to swim, I found it hard to see, to concentrate.

I didn't know where I was or where I was going.

I stumbled, and my knees hit the pavement with a jarring blow that seemed not to come from me, but from somewhere very far away. I went down on my hands, not caring about the gravel that dug into my palms, or that I'd fallen in the path of crowds coming the other way. My head swam, and I barely suppressed the urge to vomit.

There were hands on me...a woman's voice, full of concern...other voices...

Then everything went quiet, and all I could hear was that voice...smooth and beautiful, like a wide, slow flowing river on a warm day... _my boyfriend...little too much to drink...taking him home..._

Strong arms lifted me, helped me to walk. Just a few steps. A car door opened and I fell into a soft leather seat. I let my head fall back as a belt was buckled around me and I could smell him.

How could something so black inside smell so good?

Keys jingled and a door clicked shut. "I've missed you so much, Jasper," the voice said, and I felt cool fingers stroking my face. Then they were gone, the engine started, and I groaned as the car began to move.

I struggled against the fog, against the oblivion. I was completely and utterly fucked.

~v~

My head hurt like a motherfucker and my tongue tasted like I'd been licking the pavement. I didn't remember vomiting, but the burn at the back of my throat proved that I had. Regurgitated spirit and bile. I'm never drinking again.

Then I remembered, and I tried—only tried, mind you—to sit bolt upright. The closest I got was my eyes open and another roiling wave of nausea. I had to shut my eyes immediately, because even though the curtains of whatever room I was in were drawn, the bright glow that showed around the edges sent my head spinning and pounding so hard I could barely think.

He'd done something to me, drugged me—because I hadn't drunk enough to be like _that_ —and dragged me off the street and into his car.

That's all I remembered.

"Where are you, fucker?" I croaked, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "And why the fuck aren't I in pieces?"

I heard a soft chuckle, and I cracked one eye open. He sat in an armchair in a far corner of the room. Jesus, it was really him. This was the first look I'd had at him in six months, and my memory had never done him justice, because even with only one eye open just a sliver, and through the blur of my eyelashes, he was so fucking beautiful I wanted to cry.

From what I could see, the room I was in looked like any normal bedroom in any normal apartment. The bed I lay in was on one long wall of the rectangular room. On my right was a wall of windows or doors. I couldn't tell with the curtains drawn. It didn't hurt so much when I looked to the left, at him.

Edward. He'd been looking for me, and he'd found me.

I opened the other eye a little way. That must be the bedroom door beside him, I thought, though it was closed. The wall opposite the bed had another door, but this one was ajar and I could see that it was a bathroom.

I craved water to rinse the foul taste from my mouth.

"It's good to see you." His tone was pleasant, even caring. Of course I'd expected anger. I'd left him trussed naked on a bed for the cops to find. But it was as if none of that had happened, as if we'd gone back in time six months and I was waking in his bed after we'd spent the night together making love.

Fucking.

Except none of that had ever happened between us.

"I'm sorry I had to put something in your drink. If I'd realised how much you must have drunk last night, I'm not sure I would have given you so much. It really was unnecessary." He moved, standing fluidly, and I flinched. "Would you like some water?"

I watched him suspiciously as he moved to the dresser beside the armchair and grasped a clear, blue bottle of water that sat on top. It looked cold, condensation beaded on the outside, and if I hadn't been so dehydrated, I'm sure my mouth would have watered. I waited, but he just stood there expectantly on the other side of the room, the bottle in his hand.

I nodded, and my head pounded.

The smile that spread over his face was so free of any malice or cruelty that it left me dumbfounded, staring in shock as he moved towards me, the bottle held out at arm's length. He stopped and twisted the cap free. The seal broke with a cracking of plastic—I was thankful he wasn't trying to drug me again—and I took it from him, without taking my eyes off his.

"You're welcome," he said with a smirk, then sat down on the bed.

I flinched again, and pulled my legs up away from him. It was then, moving under the sheets like that, that I realised I was completely naked. I shuddered, knowing that he must have undressed me. I didn't want to think about it, his hands on me while I was unconscious. God knows what he did, how he touched me. I only knew I hadn't been penetrated, he could have done anything else and I was too sick from the Jack and the roofie he'd slipped me to know. "So, you like your boys awake when you rape and kill them, then, huh?" I lifted the bottle to my lips and half drained it, all the while watching him.

He waited until I was finished drinking, but he had a saddened, disappointed expression on his face. Then he spoke. "I have never taken anyone against their will, Jasper." He reached out and placed his hand over my ankle.

I twitched it out from under his grip. "Don't touch me."

"I have no intention of hurting you. I love you."

I burst into manic laughter. It hurt my head. "You're a nutcase. That's what you said to all those guys you killed. That's what you said to Peter." I never said his name out loud anymore. It reminded me of how badly I'd fucked up.

Edward shifted up the bed. I scrambled backward until my back hit the headboard and I could go no further. I kept the sheet pulled up to my waist. He ended up sitting beside my legs, and I pulled them into my chest. I felt dizzy, and realised I shouldn't try to hide it any longer. If he thought I was weaker than I was, he might slip and give me a chance to get out of there.

I let myself shake in fear as he touched me, at first placing his hand on my knee, then slowly stroking my thigh. "I've missed you so much," he said, with so much emotion in his voice that I almost believed him. But I could bet that he had a knife on him or somewhere close, and I could bet that he was going to try and fuck me, and when he did it was all over.

I had to get out of there.

"Um, can I take a shower?" I stammered. "I feel pretty gross."

A bright smile spread across his face. "Of course." He stood and went to the bathroom—keeping an eye on me the whole time, though he was smiling—and turned on the water, then went to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. He took a folded garment from it, opened one further down and pulled out another. "You've lost some weight, I think, but these should still fit. Are you eating properly? After you've showered, I'll make you something to eat." He placed a black t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants the same colour on the foot of the bed.

I stared at him.

"See? I remember what you like. I don't think I've ever seen you wear any other colour." Then he sat back down on the edge of the bed.

He was gonna watch me. I wanted to check out whatever it was behind the curtain, to see if there was any way I could get out, but he wasn't going to give me the opportunity.

I pulled the sheet tighter around me, yanking it hard to pull it from the mattress, so I could keep myself covered as I walked to the bathroom. He grinned and shifted obligingly so I could get it out from under him, then I swung my feet around and placed them on the floor.

As soon as I tried to put weight on them, my head swam dizzily. I had to accept the help he offered, as he placed one arm around my waist and I leaned on him as we made our way to the bathroom, then I shrugged him off weakly and leant on the cabinet instead. My stomach felt as though the contents had been stirred around inside me, and I fought the urge to lean over the sink and expel whatever remained. I ran the cold water and thrust my wrists underneath. It grounded me a little.

I realised that Edward's eyes were fixed on the inside of my left wrist, and the jagged scar that ran the width of it. I pulled it out of the water and into my chest, instinctively protecting it from his gaze.

His eyes followed, then flicked up to my face. His breathing was heavy, and his pupils had blown wide open, making his eyes look almost black. I gasped and stumbled backward, but he followed, fluidly tracing my steps as I backed up against the bathroom wall. A towel rail dug into my back, forcing me to arch over it as his face came close to mine and I shrank away.

He persisted, his lips grazing my cheek bone. That tiny touch sent shivers through me, and my lips tingled with a yearning that sickened me. I turned my face away, but his hands on my shoulders meant I couldn't twist out of reach.

Even the attempt sent waves of nausea through me.

"Jasper," he hissed into my ear. I could feel his heart thudding against my naked chest. "I've waited so long to have you in my arms again." His hands slipped from my shoulders and he clasped both of my wrists in his hands, pulling them away from my body as he stepped back. He looked down at the puckered scar, turning my wrist even though I struggled to pull it out of his sight. He kissed it, his eyes drifting slowly closed, and he groaned.

I tugged again, but couldn't pull out of his grip.

He lifted his head and looked into my eyes. "It's beautiful," he said. "Never hide this from me. This is the proof of what you gave me of your own free will."

I swallowed the bile that rose at the back of my throat. "You're deluded. Or don't you remember I had an ulterior motive?"

A smile spread over his face, and he shook his head. "I remember how you left me. I remember how you couldn't finish it. I asked you for something very great, and you couldn't do it. I understand. I've had a long time to think about it, to consider your motives." He pressed his lips against my scar again, and it itched, and I ached to scratch it. Finally he let go, and I thrust it down to my hip and scrubbed it against the bedsheet.

Edward pushed his hands inside the sheet, slipping around my waist and down over my ass. He held one cheek in each hand, kneading softly. The sheet fell away, my reactions too slow to catch it, my hands clutching at nothing. The rail behind me dug into my back and I whimpered, from the pain, the helplessness, and at the disgust I felt when my dick twitched against him.

His teeth scraped along my jaw, down my throat, biting my Adam's apple before he bent his head and took one nipple between his lips and flicked his tongue over it. I started getting hard. "God, fuck, Edward...no. Please." My hips twitched weakly and I groaned. "No, fuck, no."

Much to my surprise, he pulled away, bringing himself back to his full height and placing his hands either side of my face. "Of course. I'm sorry." He stepped back, and held open the shower door for me. "I simply...I find it difficult to control myself with you. You are perfect, my love, and so beautiful. And I understand the difficulties you had, are still having, in giving yourself to me completely. It will come in time, I know it."

As I stared at him in utter shock, he turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

My head spun, the hot steamy air making my nausea worse. I managed to reach in and turn the water temperature down until it was barely tepid, then climbed in and sank to the floor of the cubicle, letting the almost cold water flow over me as I hugged my knees to my chest and tried to pretend that it was just water running down my cheeks, and not tears.

~v~

The t-shirt was a little loose, not that it mattered. The pants too, but I pulled the drawstring in and tied it tight.

I felt like a whore. Something to be enjoyed and cast aside. Used up, bled dry...

Yeah, that's right, I felt like a helpless victim. I didn't like it, but I didn't know how to get myself up out of that hole. What choice did I have other than to play along? Let him believe what he obviously wanted to believe. Open myself up for him, if that was what he expected. Open my veins...and whatever else he wanted.

I just had to stay alive.

His eyes drank me in when I emerged from the bathroom. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet the lower, fuller one.

I wondered where he had the knife stashed. Maybe it was under the mattress. My eyes darted to the bed. He'd stripped it completely and remade it while I was in the shower. And sitting on the foot of it, was a tray filled with food.

My mouth watered.

I looked back at him, then at the tray again. He grinned and nodded his head in the direction of the food. I needed no more invitation. I fell on it, sliding onto the bed carefully so as not to jostle the tall glass of orange juice. It was the first thing I grabbed, and even though the fact that I had just brushed my teeth made it sour, right at that moment it was the most wonderful thing I'd ever tasted.

I drank it too fast, of course, and juice dripped down my chin. I put the empty glass down and wiped at my face with the back of my hand.

Edward made a soft sound of amusement. When I looked up, he was standing beside the dresser, one hand resting on the top. He tipped his head to the side and studied me, and I felt my face burn under his scrutiny. I was a prisoner, scrambling for any scraps he bothered to give me, and he laughed at me in my thirst and hunger.

"Why are you doing this?" I muttered, looking back down at the tray of food. I couldn't resist picking up a bread roll, tearing off a hunk and stuffing it into my mouth. I chewed, swallowed, and looked back up at him. "Why am I still alive?"

He looked puzzled, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. "Jasper, don't you know?" He took the few steps across the room, sank down beside the bed and he looked up at me. "I can't bear to look at another man, Jasper. Since you left me, there's been no one else. I assumed you knew."

I stared down at him, the chunk of bread I'd just put in my mouth turning to mush. So  _that's_ why I couldn't find him.  _That's_ why there had been no new murders, though the usual time had passed and I assumed that when he'd missed out on me he'd do it again sooner. I swallowed, and my mouth was dry again and I wished I hadn't drunk the juice all at once.

"Would you like more?" Edward asked, as if he knew what I was thinking.

I nodded mutely, and he rose to his feet and strode out the door.

I scrambled off the bed and immediately went to the still closed curtains, shoving them aside so I could see if there was any means of escape. Bright sunlight blinded me and my head pounded again, but I blinked, lowering my eyes to the floor as I tried the latch on the sliding glass doors.

To my surprise it wasn't locked, so I pulled the door open and stepped out onto the terrace.

My heart sank as I leant on the railing and looked out over the roofs and trees far below. There was no fire escape, no adjacent balcony to climb to. We were many stories up, and there was no sensible means of getting away.

~v~

"It's a beautiful view, isn't it, Jasper? I thought you might like it."

I turned slowly. Edward stood just outside the door, looking at me with an easy smile. Not an ounce of suspicion lay on his features, nothing to suggest he knew why I had come out here. In the bright sunlight he looked like an angel. He looked perfect, and good, and beautiful. I knew what he was capable of, and I tried to tell myself that he was cold and dark and twisted inside.

I pushed past him—still a little unsteady on my feet—and went back into the room. I climbed onto the bed, ignoring the food, and sat there, pulling my legs into my chest. I fought the urge to rock, to comfort myself in the only way I knew how.

He followed after pulling the curtains back completely, and slid onto the bed beside me, his feet still on the floor. I flinched when he touched me, brushing still-wet hair away from my face with his long and perfect fingers. "I want to see you, Jasper," he murmured. "These long months, all I've wanted to do is see you."

"Bullshit."

"I understand how you must be feeling. You don't see what I see in you. That's okay. It's all okay now, because we are together."

I lifted my head, meeting his eyes. God, how could something so beautiful be so fucked? So dangerous? He was the bait, and the trap. I'd known before I ever laid eyes on him, I'd known what he was, and how he used his beauty and his charm to lure guys like me into blood and fear and death.

Yet I could see how easy it must have been for them. I'd felt it back then, back before I'd let that knife slide into the tip of my finger so I would know for sure that all the things he said and did were not just my mind hoping that I'd found him when  _they_  hadn't. Because if all he had done when I cut myself was find me a band-aid, I would have believed it all, I would have let myself fall for him.

I saw it happening. When I told him I thought I was falling in love with him, it was all true. Because he was beautiful and charming and perfect, and he smelt so good and every time he touched me I thought I would die if he stopped.

I'd never had to lie to do what I did.

If only I'd been stronger, had been able to separate myself from the role I played, then maybe I would have been able to cut him as he lay on that bed so it wasn't just my blood I left in that room.

His thumb touched my lower lip, and I couldn't help the sigh that left me. I closed my eyes, because I thought that if I couldn't see how beautiful he was then I could remember what he really was.

It didn't work. When his lips touched mine I didn't shrink away. I let him kiss me, I opened my lips to him, I let him unwrap my arms from around my knees and push me back onto the bed.

I heard his shoes hit the floor as he kicked them off, and he slipped a leg between mine. His hands held my wrists firmly, pushing them into the mattress either side of my head, his thumb brushing over the mangled inside of my left wrist as if he cared.

"I love you," he whispered against my lips, and released my left arm, and I was relieved that now he wasn't touching the scar that itched so badly, because his touching had soothed the itch and I didn't feel right that it should have.

He pushed up the t-shirt I wore—not mine, I didn't feel right calling it mine—and his cold hand slipped over my stomach and chest, moving around the side of me, slipping beneath me so he could hold me closer to him.

I could move my left arm if I wanted, and I imagined slipping my fingers into his hair and pulling him off me and dashing his brains against the headboard but instead I slipped my fingers into his hair and clutched hard and pulled him to me. He groaned, and I whimpered, and his hips moved against mine, and I wrapped one leg around his.

We were closer than we'd ever been before, even back then, not counting the fact that he'd taken my blood into his mouth, not counting the fact that I'd stroked his hard cock because I hadn't been able to resist even though I was thinking about cutting his throat.

I could feel even through the heavy denim of his jeans how hard he was, and I remembered how big and hard and thick he'd felt in my hand. I thrust my hips up into him and he groaned into my mouth.

"Please..."

It was me that said it. Me that gave him permission. Take me. Use me. Only make me come first, please.

He stopped moving against me and I let out a strangled cry of loss.

He was breathing hard, panting, and yet he pulled back, rolled off me and pulled me up so he could get my shirt off.

I lay back down, my hands at my sides, my fists clenched because I shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be allowing this. I should be moving, getting off the bed, running for the door while he was still slowly working the buttons of his shirt through each tiny hole.

But I waited for him. And I watched him, his fingers slowly slipping each button loose, watched his face, his eyes lowered in serious concentration, his lips parted just a little, his breath making his chest rise and fall under his fingers.

He looked wondrous as he let the pristine white shirt slip from his shoulders and pool behind him on the comforter. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and he slid down beside me, lying on his left side, and he touched me, palm down on my chest, moving slowly down over my stomach and slipping beneath the elastic waistband of the pants he'd given me to wear.

I gasped and arched my back as he wrapped his hand around my cock. I turned to face him, clutching his shoulders and as he slowly stroked me I moaned and thrust into his hand.

He whispered to me, his lips moving against my cheek as I buried my face in the space between him and the mattress, breathing in his clean, fresh scent. What he said was only snippets, things I'd heard before from him. Beautiful and perfect and I want to taste you and want to feel you come in my hand and so sweet and love you and want to be inside you.

I screamed, my fingernails surely cutting in and drawing blood as I came. He held me until I stopped shaking, then without shifting from his place, reached for the shirt he had taken off me and used it to clean the mess from my stomach and his hand.

A slow smile spread over his face as he looked at me. "You make the most delicious noises..." He pressed his face into my throat and hummed. "And you smell so good. I can feel your heart beating..."

I finally unclenched my fists from his shoulders and rolled onto my back. The usual thing, the polite thing, was to reciprocate...but this was not usual, nor did I feel the need for politeness. I was disappointed in myself, that I'd allowed him to touch me at all, and that I'd begged him to continue.

Yet I couldn't find the motivation to move away from him as he held himself on his elbow and watched me stare at the ceiling.

Was this what giving up felt like?

He moved. Fast, reaching over me, laying his body over me, and I panicked, whimpering as he covered me and I thought he was holding me down.

But he wasn't. Instead he reached into the drawer of the nightstand, and I flinched. "Please, I'm sorry, I can't..." I said, because I thought what else would he be reaching for but lube to follow through with his whispered promises as I was coming.

"Shhh," he soothed, ignoring my protests, clutching something in his hand as he slid the drawer shut and rolled off me.

"I'm not letting you fuck me," I said, hoping that assertiveness would dissuade him from trying. I didn't know if I could say no if he pressed, but I had to because that's when he killed them.

"I'm not going to," he murmured. I heard a click and caught the flash of steel from the corner of my eye. I looked just in time to see him slip a small, delicate knife from a leather sleeve and it was like all the sound had gone out of the room then rushed back in, overwhelming me. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, but I could hear myself begging, pleading as I tried to scramble away.

He grabbed me by the wrist, his fingers biting in, and though I yanked in my panic I couldn't get free. "Calm yourself," he said firmly, and he pulled me back.

"Fuck...no...please." I frantically kicked out, trying to shove him back. He growled, he fucking  _growled_ , and dropped the knife, quickly with his right hand he grabbed my other wrist, the scarred one, and used his body, his legs, to subdue me.

By the time I ceased my struggles, exhausted and overpowered, he lay on top of me, and I could feel wetness on my face. I had my eyes screwed tightly shut, my head was turned to the side and I gasped for air as his full weight pressed down on me.

He was panting, too, his breath hot on my cheek. I felt his tongue trace the underneath of my eye, wet and warm. "Not quite what I'm after," he breathed. He shifted his weight and lifted both my arms up above my head, securing both my wrists within the cage of one hand, pressing them down hard into the mattress.

I tested him, and I couldn't move. A sob racked my chest and fresh tears escaped.

"Shh." His free hand drifted down my left side, and I felt him shift again, rocking away, then back again before I felt cold steel against the inside of my upper arm.

I started thrashing again.

The knife disappeared. "Jasper, you'll have to keep still, or I'll cut too deep."

My energy was gone anyway, and I collapsed.

"That's good," he murmured, his lips close to my ear. I felt his fingers on my face, wiping away the moisture from my cheeks and stroking my hair. "I just want a little taste," he said. "I won't hurt you, I promise. I love you. I've been waiting for you a long time, Jasper. You're what I needed, what I was searching for, only I didn't know it." I felt the blade again, a sharp tingling as he dragged it lightly across my shoulder and down my chest. It stopped, an inch or so above my nipple and I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding.

"Here? You want it here?"

"No." My voice was small and weak.

"Oh." He took the blade away again, must have placed it down somewhere, because he returned his hand to me, his palm flat on my chest. "You want to do it for me? Jasper...I...please." Emotion thickened his voice, and I finally opened my eyes and looked at him. "Please," he continued. "Like you did before...please."

I nodded quickly. "Yes." If he would let me up, give me the knife, I could get out of here.

He released my wrists, rolled off me and picked up the knife from where it lay. He flipped it over, holding it between two fingers by the blade and held it out, his face a picture of perfect, innocent trust.

I pulled my arms into my chest, rubbing my aching wrists as I watched him warily. He smiled as I pulled myself into a sitting position, the blade still held out before him.

I took it.

It was cold. The whole thing, from point to butt, was no longer than my hand with fingers outstretched, and the handle and the blade were made of the same piece of steel. "You killed Peter with this knife," I murmured.

Edward cocked his head to the side and gazed at me curiously. "I wish I'd met you first."

Then I'd be dead. I wondered if Peter would have been in my position now. "I should kill you for taking my friend away."

He was quick. Before I'd realised it, he had my wrist in his hand again. The blade of the knife pressed against his throat. "I trust you," he whispered as he released my hand.

I held the knife there for a few moments. A single flick of my wrist would have ended it. My hand shook. I felt the blade scratching against his skin, against the barest hint of stubble. My breath came in shuddering pants, loud in the quiet room.

Slowly, Edward took my wrist and lowered the blade from his throat. I let him. I let him steady my hand as he guided the knife to the inside of my left forearm. "This is what you want," he whispered gently.

"No."

A hint of a smile crossed his lips, and he pressed down on my hand. I could have dropped the knife, but I didn't. I let it bite into my skin. I let him drag my arm, drag the blade over my flesh, and I pressed down on the spine until I felt it slide through.

I clenched my teeth and grunted against the pain, and Edward let out an answering gasp. I dropped the knife then, a pale line left in it's wake that quickly darkened as blood welled to the surface.

Edward dropped my wrist and with both hands held my left arm. He stared at the wound, breathing heavily. I watched as a single, heavy drop of blood broke free from the edge of the wound and began a steady descent until it hit his finger and pooled there.

His eyes shot up to mine. His lips were open, and his shoulders rose and fell with slow deliberate breaths. I felt his fingers release my arm and watched with a sick kind of fascination as he lifted his bloody fingers to his lips.

He closed his eyes and groaned as he sucked two fingers into his mouth. When his eyes opened again, they were dark. He let go of my arm with the other hand and wrapped it around my neck, pulling me hard to him, crushing his lips against mine.

I tasted blood, and there was a sticky dampness on his fingers as they threaded into my hair at the back of my head. I cupped my right hand under the warm flow, as if that could stop my life draining from me. But I let him kiss me. Let him crush me against him, let him push me back onto the bed and lift my arm.

He crouched on his knees and locked our gaze as he dragged his tongue up from my elbow, through the thick red that continued to flow. I winced at the sting as he licked the length of the wound. Again and again his tongue moved over me, until my skin was almost clean. The wound had stopped oozing fresh blood. He lowered my arm, and it throbbed.

I was frozen. Maybe it was shock, maybe fear. My fingers tingled, my lips too. It didn't seem real.

Edward slid to my side and kissed me again. I felt his hands at my hip and registered vaguely that he was opening his jeans. "Touch me," he commanded, and without thinking I complied, reaching for him with my right hand, wrapping his thick, hard cock with blood slick fingers.

"Oh, god." I tried to pull back, but he grabbed my wrist and held it there.

He stared at me with an intensity I'd never seen in his eyes before. It was desperate, needy. "Please." He closed his hand over mine and guided my fingers, forcing me to stroke him and smear my own blood over his cock.

He groaned, and the sound made my heart beat faster, harder. He took his hand away, grabbed my head and kissed me hard. He grunted my name against my lips, then: "Fuck."

It was the first time I'd ever heard him curse.

I gasped at his reaction, his loss of control and the composure he displayed at all times. This was because of me, he was begging me to touch him, to give him pleasure and make him come. The power I felt over him aroused me, and I squeezed my fingers harder. He grunted again and started chanting: "Yes...yes...yes..." His cock swelled in my hand and I kept stroking, faster as it began to pulse, as he spewed come in hot streams up my chest and over my fingers.

His head was buried in my neck, and he shuddered intermittently for a long time. I kept touching him, more gently now, but with a renewed ease as his come mingled with my blood and made my fingers slick. When I stopped, his cock still in my hand, he finally lay still.

"Jasper," he whispered. "Perfect, so perfect." He pulled back and looked into my eyes, and even though his lids were heavy and hooded, he looked amazed, disbelieving. "Perfect..."

Reality flooded back and I shuddered.

"You're afraid of me," he said, brushing hair off my face with bloodstained fingers. "Don't be. I'll never need another man, Jasper. No one else could ever take your place. I want this with you, only you. I brought you here to show you that we were fated, love. You only need to accept it, to surrender to it." He pulled my left hand to his lips and kissed it.

I couldn't answer him. All I could do was stare at his lips, still stained dark in the creases.

Edward eventually dragged me into the shower with him. The water ran red, then pink. He helped me to stay upright when all I wanted to do was slump to the floor.

Maybe I was in shock.

He dried me, and helped me dress, cleaned and bandaged the cut on my arm. He changed the bloodstained sheets and pulled me down beside him, wrapping me in his arms.

~v~

I woke alone in the dark. The only light came from the hallway. The bedroom door was open.

"Edward?" My voice was hoarse.

No answer. I was frowning as I slipped out from under the sheets and made my way in bare feet—in bare everything—to the dresser. The clothing I'd worn the night before when he'd pulled me off the street was folded neatly on top. They'd been laundered. My boots were on the floor. I gnawed on my lip as I pulled on my clothes, wondering where he was.

Had he gone out, thinking that I would sleep until he got back? I should get the hell out before he returned. That's what I'd wanted when I thought he was going to kill me.

Now I wasn't so sure.

There was a small box on the dresser that hadn't been there before. I switched on the light and had a closer look. There was a post-it note stuck to it.

**I'm sorry to leave you. I do it to prove that you need me as much as I need you.**   
**I am the only one who has the number and I will see that the bill is paid.**   
**Edward.**

In the box was a brand new cellphone.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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